


tiny haunts

by enbyofdionysus



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, M/M, Running Away, Slow Burn, Small Towns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:41:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7576096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbyofdionysus/pseuds/enbyofdionysus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nico moves to the tiny town of Ava, Georgia in the hopes of burying the ghosts of his past forever. Determined to keep a low profile, he gets a job at the town's only cafe and takes up a room in a house owned by one of his sister's eccentric friends. But just as Nico starts to open himself up to the warmhearted community of Ava and begins to let himself fall for someone who finally makes him smile, his dark past comes back with a vengeance.</p><p>--</p><p>A Safe Haven AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> oh jesus are we doing this we're doing this i'm so sorry  
> I'm planning this as a longer fic so let's hope I actually finish it amiright

Nico huddled down in the bus seat and pulled his hood up over his face. It was him. He was sure of it. The cop walking along the road outside stopped and turned. His nose had a ridge in it; his skin was freckled. Nico sagged in relief.

The bus jerked and began to pull away from the curve. In the glow of the passing streetlight Nico caught a glimpse of his own reflection and, with further relief, saw that he was unrecognizable.

He was free.

He leaned his head against the seat and let his eyes close.

He was _free_.

**

“Don't you see what he's doing?” Hazel had hissed.

They stood outside Nico's apartment building on the west side of San Francisco. The clouds were blocking out the sun, but not the heat. It would rain soon and then it would be morbidly humid.

Nico finished pushing the last of the boxes in the backseat of his butchered station wagon. Sweat made his shirt cling to his lower back. He plucked at it. “Getting a better job?”

His response only seemed to fuel Hazel's rage. “He's taking you away from your friends. From your family.”

Nico scoffed. He wiped his face. “He is not.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why is he moving you guys all the way out to Missouri? Who the hell moves to Missouri?”

Nico leaned against the car door and gave half a shrug. “Bryce was offered a better paying job in the city. You know we can't live in a studio forever.”

“This is where your dream job is,” spat Hazel.

“Dreams don't pay the bills,” Nico offered.

“He's going to kill you.” She whispered it, but it was loud to Nico.

His resolve wavered. “Bryce isn't like that. He's never hit me.”

“Not yet,” said Hazel. “But he will. He's just waiting until you're away from the people that know you, from the people who know you're not a klutz. From the people who care.”

“You're paranoid.”

“I'm _experienced_.” She flicked his head. “I know how abusers work. He's already got you wrapped around his nasty little finger.”

“He's not your mom, Hazel.” It was a low blow, Nico knew, but he also knew Bryce.

“He is,” Hazel said and pushed away from the car. “They're all the same. Just you wait. He'll start breaking your things soon.”

“Hazel...”

She leveled him with a stare. Finally, she said, “I have a friend in Ava, Georgia. If something goes wrong, you run. You hear me? Don't write anything down. Don't call; he'll hear it. Don't text; he'll read it. Don't plan it; he'll know. Just run.”

“Nothing's going to happen.”

“Promise me.”

Nico sighed. He promised.  
  
**

Bryce was a good man. He just got a little explosive when he was angry. When he wasn't angry, he was kind. He'd text Nico throughout the day asking where he was and how his day was going. He cared about his well-being and told him that if his friend Will was so rude maybe they shouldn't be friends anymore. He'd make his food and held the door open for him and buy him clothes. He wasn't controlling like Hazel made him out to be.

Except that he was.

Nico started to notice it once they'd moved.

“I think I'm gonna apply for a job at _The Oracle_ ,” Nico had said one morning. He'd been a pretty good journalist at Jupiter Ltd. back in California; he was sure he'd be a good one in Missouri.

Bryce had scoffed and set his coffee down a little too hard. The noise echoed a little in their predominantly empty kitchen. The window was open, letting in the moist summer heat. “What do you need a job for? Aren't I making enough?”

Nico frowned, gaze flicking down to the coffee mug. It was one of his, a gift from Hazel on his twentieth birthday. “It's not that you're not making enough. I just thought–”

“Then you don't need a job,” Bryce said. He stood and went to the sink, dropping the mug into it without care. Nico saw a piece of it chip. “If you're a writer, then write. That's why we got a house with an office.”

Nico recognized the tick in Bryce's eyebrow. He dropped the subject.

But it only got worse.

Bryce's new job brought on new stress and his drinking went from regular to constant. Nico had made the mistake of suggesting he slow down a bit. Bryce had one of his fits, but this time it was worse. He swore and swung his fists and broke almost every dish they had before storming out and leaving Nico to clean up the aftermath.

He swept up the shards of his plates and bowls, of his mom's favorite plate, and finally that same mug Hazel had gotten him. And then he realized, standing next to the garbage and letting the pieces fall, fall, fall: all of the dishes that had been broken were his.

Bryce's glass travel mug still sat perfectly clean on the shelf. Bryce's mom's decorative plates still hung from the walls.

_He'll start breaking your things soon._

_**_

Two weeks later Nico ran.

There was blood on his hands, blood on his face. Only some of it was his. He still saw the fists coming, still saw the knife, still felt it as he buried it into Bryce's stomach. _Self-defense_ , he frantically thought to himself as he pushed his feet down the road. _It was self-defense_.

The rain was too heavy and the sky was too dark. He slipped on the pavement. Pain seared in his wrist. He checked it; some skin was gone, but it wasn't sprained. He shoved on. The weather stripped the evidence away, but not enough of it.

Nico staggered to the next street. Barreled on.

There was a house. Somewhere, there was a house.

It was gray, he knew. White trim. Pillars.

Bryce had mentioned it in passing once when they'd driven by. He'd had to stop there once. A noise complaint. “Fucking wops,” Bryce had snarled. Nico had felt his face heat. It heated now, but now with promise.

Years ago, his grandmother had told him a story about a Jewish boy hiding in their basement in Sicily. They could have been shot for it, she said. But they hid the boy anyway. “You know why, _patatino_?” she had asked, squeezing his little hand. He could still smell her perfume, spicy and sharp. “Because _italiani_ care for each other always.”

Nico trusted her judgment.

Soaked, panting, bruised, he knocked.

**           

Mrs. Monaco had let him in.

He tried to explain what happened. Couldn't speak fast enough. But Mrs. Monaco looked like she had seen enough terrified boys in her day to tell the terror on his face did not belong to a murderer.

She swore at him, but not maliciously. Shoved him in the bathroom.

“I have a son,” she said. “In the army. You can take his clothes.”

He showered.

She shaved the back, the sides, and cropped the top of his hair until they were only tiny, dark waves. And then she bleached that.

He showered again.

Dressed.

Mrs. Monaco clucked her tongue and, like Bryce but with affection in her aggressiveness, she dressed him again.

“I look like a hipster,” he said when he glanced in the mirror. He was wearing a leather jacket over a gray sweatshirt. His bleached hair made him look ghostly.

Again, Mrs. Monaco clucked at him. “No,” she said, “you look like a white boy. That's good. The man you're running from won't recognize you.”

Nico nodded.

“You have money?”

Nico nodded again.

“You have a place to go?”

Nico paused. He nodded.

“Get on a bus. Go there. I will take you.”

“Thank you,” Nico had said.

Mrs. Monaco clucked. “No tears.” And then she squeezed his hand.

** 

Ava, Georgia was a tiny, rural town just outside of Macon County that made much of its money from the acres of peach trees that stretched across either side of the main highway. Where there weren't peaches, there were pecans. And where there weren't pecans, the bus driver said, there were ghosts.

“Savannah may have the title of most haunted city in America,” said the driver, “but Ava's definitely the most haunted town.” Nico didn't think much of it. His grandmother had been a tarot and fortune teller; his mother had been a medium. He'd walked with ghosts his entire childhood.

The bus chugged down a dirt road that was hugged by scraggly trees Nico had become to associate with the South. They passed a tiny white church and then more trees before the road opened up again and smoothed out into pavement. “This your stop up here now,” the driver said as they came along to a lone bench along a stretch of countryside. Nico stared at it through the window.

“You know where you're going?” the driver asked. He was a big man and his glasses kept slipping down his nose.

“467 Beechwood,” said Nico.

The driver nodded once. “That's just up thataways. You keep walkin' and you'll see it.”

Nico muttered a thank you and slung the bag Mrs. Monaco had packed for him over his shoulder.

467 Beechwood was definitely “up thataways.” By three miles or so. Nico discarded his leather jacket and sweatshirt, stuffing the jacket into the bag and tying the sweatshirt around his middle, leaving him only in a black tank top now drenched with sweat. The air was thick and smelled of dirt. Cicadas were making his ears numb. His feet, shoved into a pair of sneakers a size too small, were chafing and blistering.

It wasn't until he saw the house, a single house along a stretch of nothing sitting by itself against the road, that Nico finally let himself relax. The face of Bryce, blood-spattered and inhuman, became replaced with the image of Hazel's safe haven: a Victorian with the misfortune of being painted lavender. All the adrenaline that had been pushing him on until this moment, all the fear and anger and shame, settled into a kind of heavy exhaustion.

The tears came before he even made it to the porch. Nico let them come, let his face contort into something hideous and wet because for the first time since Missouri, for the first time in a year, he was _safe_.

The porch creaked as it took his weight. The tabby cat in the window judged him.

Nico wiped his chin, his cheeks, beneath his eyes. Took a settling breath. And knocked.


	2. five cats and the color purple

The old Victorian on Beechwood had been in the Jones family for generations and what hadn't been remodeled reflected that. The kitchen suffered from water damage and the floorboards were bowing around the foundations, which were beginning to rot. Still, the house itself aside from these flaws was pleasant and the upstairs bedrooms had been recently renovated.

All of this had been told to Nico by the time the owner of the house had poured him coffee.

When the door had opened, Nico had been expecting a woman. Instead, Hazel's friend turned out to be a tall man with a round, kind face and blond hair in tight coils. Pollux welcomed Nico as if he were a long-lost friend rather than a stranger, his thick accent filling the silence of the parlor in the way a grandparent's would.

Nico watched him carefully.

Pollux had settled himself down in the seat across from him, a glass coffee table the only thing separating them. He glanced up at Nico, smiled, and asked “Hazel's your sister?” His eyes were dark, Nico noticed, but not frighteningly so; the color of tree bark, of fresh garden soil.

“She is,” Nico agreed. _When had she called?_ he wondered. _Before he'd even left?_

A cat, stout and white, pattered across the floor in front of him and paid him no mind as it attempted to join the black cat Nico had first seen in the window. There wasn't enough room on the sill for the two of them, but that didn't seem to deter the white cat in the slightest. It jumped, fell, jumped again, fell, and then turned its head to yell at Pollux.

Amused, Pollux placed his coffee gently back down onto the table and stood. “Hazel didn't tell me much about you,” he said, answering Nico's silent question. He bent to the white cat and scooped it up as if it weighed nothing before gingerly placing it beside the black cat. The black cat meowed in protest. Pollux copied the sound. “She just said that you might show up one day and need a place to stay.” He returned to his seat and ran his eyes over Nico unsubtly, making him flush. “Although,” he said, “she did mention that you had brown hair, not white.”

Nico made a sound not unlike the black cat. “It's bleached.”

Pollux's eyebrows went up, but whatever question he was thinking of he didn't voice it.

Nico didn't give him a chance to. “Do you know any places that might be renting?” he asked. “Maybe downtown?” He picked up his own coffee, relishing in the warmth of the cup now that his body had been chilled by air conditioning.

The question made Pollux laugh, a surprisingly pleasing sound. He said, “Oh, sugar,” and then covered his smile with his hand to save Nico from his own embarrassment, not meaning to offend him. Still, a dimple escaped his grasp. “There is no downtown. The closest we have to a downtown is The Circle, which is, what, maybe six shops or so? Give or take?” He gestured to the rest of the parlor as if Nico could see the great expanse of peach trees and gravel roads before him. “Ava isn't a place where people rent. Hell, Ava is barely a place where people live. It's a harvesting community. People come here to farm. You want an apartment, you're gonna have to go into the city – to Charlotte.”

A chill rolled down Nico's back. He'd lived in Las Vegas, New York City, San Francisco. Cities weren't something that he disliked. While cities had always made his sister Bianca feel claustrophobic and depressed (“There's so many homeless people,” she'd told him once in a strangled voice), they filled Nico with energy, confidence, and zeal. There was something about being around thousands of people knowing none of them cared what you did or said because they had their own lives had its own strange sense of freedom. Now, though, Nico thought of all of the things that came with city life that he hadn't previously considered: traffic cameras, police officers, underground spaces where people could purchase weapons if their gun had been taken away by their boss.

“Does Ava have a police department?” Nico suddenly asked.

Pollux seemed confused by the question. “We have a Sheriff,” he offered. “And a few deputies. But you don't have to worry about anything. I know Ava can be a little unnerving because it's so out in the middle of no where, but you're safe here.”

That hadn't been what Nico was thinking about, but he didn't correct him. His thoughts flickered back to Bryce's bloodied face, his snarl, the knife in his stomach. Was he dead? Nico didn't know. If he was, Nico was a wanted murderer. If he wasn't, Bryce would find him. And he'd use his badge to do it.

Nico weighed his options. It must have shown on his face because, as he took a long sip of his coffee, Pollux tentatively said, “You know,” and waited for Nico to look up. “You could stay with me if you want.” Nico frowned, which made Pollux's already ruddy face turn ruddier. “I just mean, I have the rooms. I could rent one out to you once you get a job. Really, you'd be doing me a favor. My dad thinks I need more social interaction even though that's predominantly what my career involves.”

“What's your career?” Nico asked. He set his mug down, now empty.

“I'm a freelance graphic designer,” Pollux said, giving a half-shrug. “Stage manager on the weekends for the Bacchus Theatre in Charlotte.”

“Doesn't sound like it pays much.”

Pollux smiled at that. “It doesn't, but dreams are worth suffering for sometimes, you know?” His words reminded him of Hazel. Nico's face reddened with shame. “Besides, I don't need much. Most of my money goes to my cats.” He winced. “I know how that sounds, but I'm not a crazy cat guy, I swear.”

Nico tested him. “How many do you have?”

At that, Pollux paused. Then laughed and covered his face. “Five.”

Nico's lips quirked. “Crazy cat guy,” he said.

Pollux laughed. He tried to run his fingers through his hair, but they got stuck in his curls and what would have been a casual movement suddenly became awkward as he tugged his hand free. “Really, though,” he said, “if you don't mind having a roommate, you can take a room upstairs. The first one on the right is mine and the last one down the hall is off limits, but otherwise they're all open for choosing.”

Nico considered it. “How much would rent be?”

Pollux tapped his fingers on the coffee table. “How's fifty bucks a week?”

“That's it?”

“You want it higher?”

“No, it's fine, I just– That's pretty low.”

“I told you I don't need a lot of money.” Pollux shrugged. “Besides, your paycheck probably isn't going to be pretty big to be completely honest. I'm not saying that to be an asshole, but as someone who's lived here their entire life.”

Nico nodded and looked to the cats in the window. The black cat still looked angry to be sharing its space, but it was allowing the white cat to lick at its fur. “Thank you,” he said. He meant it.

Pollux waved a hand. “A brother of Hazel's is a brother of mine.” He stopped, winced. “That didn't come out right.”

But Nico was smiling.

**

The only place that was hiring in Ava was a small cafe in The Circle called Joe Joe's. Pollux had been willing to drive him there in his dilapidated purple 1987 Dodge Dakota.

“Why all the purple?” Nico asked. He was still slightly horrified that one of Pollux's cats, a fat and shaggy tabby named Grant, had followed them out of the house and into the truck for the ride. He now stood on Pollux's lap as Pollux drove, head out the window and eyes squinting like a dog or, more accurately, like an Irish mobster in a drive-by.

“Favorite color,” Pollux said. It must have been a common occurrence because Pollux didn't pay the cat any attention. “Mine and my brother's.”

The road seemed to be a lot less bumpy in Pollux's truck than it had in the bus. The trees that had initially been scraggly now seemed to elongate themselves and branch off each other like willow trees that weren't. They were hauntingly beautiful. Nico said so and Pollux made an affirmative sound. The trees only seemed to get more dense the more they drove, but soon they opened up a little and Nico saw what Pollux meant by The Circle.

There was a statue of a man on a horse in the very center of a clearing that had been paved into a road and around the statue, like summer cabins, were a series of small shops selling clothing, historical novelties, food, and hardware. On the edge and a little separated from the others was perhaps the tiniest coffee shop Nico had ever seen. Joe Joe's was the size of a San Francisco studio apartment and its outside looked like it had survived multiple hurricanes. The paint, seemingly red, had been chipped away and the wood paneling along the door looked as if it would fall off at any moment.

Nico stared as they pulled up alongside it, but Pollux looked nonplussed.

“Stay here,” he said as he slid from the car and it took Nico a moment to realize he was referring to the cat. Nico pulled himself from the passenger seat.

The inside of the cafe was significantly better looking than the outside and Nico wondered if that was because the owners had attempted to make the shabbiness of the place work for them. Some things like the counter had been refinished, but the bar stools were significantly rough looking. Red and brown brick lined one of the walls and gave the place a home-y feel. Nico liked it immediately.

What he liked more though was the hot guy behind the counter.

Even in an apron, the barista looked like a blond Superman with perfect hair, perfect cheekbones, and perfect teeth. His arms looked like he could bench press three of Nico and his eyes were so blue Nico could see them from seven feet away.

As if he weren't speaking to a god, Pollux raised an arm in greeting and casually came up to the counter without so much as a goat to sacrifice. “Hey, Jason.”

“Hey, Lux,” the guy – Jason – said. “The usual?”

“Thanks, but not today.” Pollux gestured to Nico who was still standing awkwardly by the entrance. “I'm here for a friend, actually. Clarisse had mentioned something about needing an extra hand lately and I thought my buddy, Nico, here would be a great candidate.”

Jason slid his eyes from Pollux to Nico and gave a brilliant, friendly smile.

Nico's dick jumped.

“You ever work in a coffee shop before, Nico?” Jason asked.

“Um,” Nico said and immediately hated himself for it. “Once. I worked as a barista for a semester at CHBU. It was only for students, though. Not for profit or anything. I mean, not for a company.”

“That's fine,” Jason said, “some experience is better than no experience. Not that it matters. Things have been pretty slow here since,” he paused, “ever.” He shared a laugh with Pollux. “You looking for part-time?” he asked Nico, leaning on the counter. Nico wanted to drive in the dips of his elbows. _Don't be weird,_ he thought.

“Full-time,” Nico said. He glanced at Pollux. “If that's okay.”

“More than okay,” Jason said and winked. Nico saw Death. “One of our baristas recently took off to be a stay at home dad, so we need someone to work full-time anyway. Any particular hours you're looking for?”

“Any hours are fine with me,” said Nico. He made his way closer to the counter so as not to look so awkward. Pollux shot him a knowing look.

“Okay, awesome,” Jason said. He held out his hand. Nico shook it. “You're hired. Can you start tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Nico said, flushing. “Absolutely.” It was strange, he thought, for everything to be going so well. He had a place to stay and a new job all in the spans of a day. He almost expected Bryce to burst from the back room with a gun. Hazel's voice chided him in his head. _This is what it's like for good things to happen_ , she said. _You don't need to question it_. “Thank you.”

He lowered his hand from Jason's and felt his heart stammer, not from attraction, but from something that felt suspiciously like happiness. It was going to be okay.

 


	3. tim hortons is completely empty and this guy just sat right next to me what the fuck update two more joined him and all i can smell is old man cologne someone end me update EVEN MORE JOINED HIM AND BOXED ME IN WHAT THE FUCK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, there's some racial slurs in this chapter

“What are you doing?”

The police station's offices had been empty. Bryce had been sure of it. Those who worked the night-shift were on the floor below or were out in the streets, driving around looking for trouble or making trouble if they couldn't find it. The only light in the whole room was coming from Bryce's computer monitor where security tape after security tape from the Darla, Missouri bus station was playing. Bryce had just paused one of the videos, having caught sight of a familiar Roman nose, when he heard the voice.

Bryce dragged his eyes from the computer screen to the face of his partner, Michael Kahale. Michael's face in the glow of the monitor was distorted, but Bryce wasn't sure if that was from concern or the whiskey. Maybe it was disgust. “Looking for someone,” he answered. His hands were shaking over the keyboard. He clenched them into fists.

“Yeah?” Michael said in a tone that meant he didn't actually give a fuck what Bryce was looking for because he knew he shouldn't be looking for anything. “And what happened to your face?”

The question made Bryce smile without humor. He knew what he looked like; his eye was nearly swelled shut and his lip had stitches in it. Staples were keeping his stomach together. He shouldn't have been out of the hospital and yet here he was. Fuck, he shouldn't have been at the _office_ and yet here he was. “Fell down the stairs,” he said, using Nico's excuse to the girl scouts last Sunday. The irony of it made him laugh inside, but with something a lot darker than hilarity.

Michael knew he was lying; his hard stare said so. “You shouldn't be here.”

“Fuck off,” Bryce growled, but his smile didn't leave his face. It unnerved people when he smiled like that and Bryce liked to unnerve people. “Captain doesn't know what he's doing putting me on the bench and I'm gonna prove it to him.” He gestured to the computer screen without looking at it. “I'm looking for a murderer in case you decided to give a shit about the community for once.”

“There's been no report of a murder,” Michael said. He didn't look at the screen; he didn't care. “You're not a cop anymore, Lawrence. You can't be here.”

Bryce's smile vanished. He pointed a finger at Michael like a gun. “If a blackie like you,” he said, “can be a cop, then I can.”

Michael didn't flinch, but something changed in the way he was standing. “Firstly,” he said, “I'm not black, I'm Hawaiian. Secondly, fuck you.” He leaned forward so he was in Bryce's face. His voice lowered. “And thirdly, you're not a cop because you don't know how to wear the badge without throwing your fist into an innocent bystander's jaw. You're not even _sober_ , right now.”

Bryce whispered icily, “Get the fuck out of my face.”

“I'll get out of your face,” Michael said, “when you get out of my station.”

Bryce sneered and held his ground.

But so did Michael. And Bryce knew better than anyone what Kahale was capable of when the porky fist of the law was on his side.

He stood and swiped his water bottle from beside the monitor. “I'll be back here by Monday morning,” said Bryce. He punched the escape button on the keyboard and the security DVD spat out from the computer. “That's a promise. Captain'll be sorry when I throw him a perfectly good suspect.”

“Get the hell out,” Michael said, his voice tired. He didn't care that there was a murderer on the streets because to him there wasn't one. But Bryce knew better. And he was gonna make it right.

Bryce sneered again and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. He stumbled out of the cubicle, nearly braining himself on the side of the desk. Michael didn't help him, just watched. Which was good. If Michael even tried, Bryce would have punched him. He didn't need help from a faggot like Kahale.

Eventually, Bryce made it to the elevator. He stabbed the button with his thumb.

“Lawrence.”

He turned. The world swayed and then focused again on Michael's smug-ass face. He was holding a pair of car keys.

“Take the fucking bus.”

Rage gripped Bryce's stomach like a vice. But he held onto it. Hell, he would even feed it. It would only fuel him later. He grinned at Kahale and flicked him off. The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside, spitting onto the stained carpeting of the office before the doors closed. Michael didn't matter, he rationalized. Because now, after hours and hours of searching and pounding on people's doors, Bryce knew where Nico was. And he was gonna find him.

He was gonna fucking find him.

 


	4. lukewarm coffee

It was always the first night that was the worst.

Nico had connected the dots back when he and Hazel had taken a trip to check out colleges in Buffalo. It didn’t matter how little homesickness he had or how many times he had traveled in the past or how many cities he’d been to, his first night staying anywhere was always filled with tossing and turning and cruddy sleep. Which was why it was so strange for Nico to have woken with his face in a pillow and dried saliva on his cheek his first night staying in one of the upper bedrooms of Pollux’s ancient Victorian.

He sat up slowly, wiping his face and darting his eyes across the sunlit floorboards in case something other than his bladder had been what woken him. There was nothing there. Nico relaxed. Then jumped as his hand touched something soft and warm. The white cat, Mallow, had made herself comfortable against his thigh while he’d been sleeping. He removed himself from the bed as best he could without waking her, but the floorboards were old and creaked under his feet.

On his way to the bathroom, Nico caught sight of himself in the mirror above the dresser. He touched his face. The bags beneath his eyes that he’d accumulated since the bus ride had been lessened. The bruise on his cheekbone that had been gradually healing was now a deep yellow and would soon fade. He made a face at himself to put animation to his features before pulling the heavy bedroom door fully open.

The hallway was bright with sunlight. Nico squinted a few times before his eyes adjusted. He cast a glance at Pollux’s door and found it closed. The wooden clock hanging from the wall read a quarter after nine. Nico wondered if Pollux was an early riser or a late sleeper.

After emptying his bladder with a calico running between his feet and over his pants, Nico made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. The stairs creaked as much as the floorboards despite their carpeting and Nico winced with each one.

However, he had no need to be quiet. When Nico turned the corner to the kitchen, Pollux was already at the small, circular kitchen table in the center of the room. A bowl of soggy cereal sat abandoned beside a laptop, which Pollux was clicking at without much enthusiasm. He was gnawing at his thumbnail, unaware of Nico standing in the doorway. Which was just fine with Nico; it gave him time to stare.

Because there was something surreal about where Pollux was sitting. He accredited it, Nico supposed, to the kitchen itself. The character of it, the oldness of it – the length of the cabinets and their glass doors, the browned kettle sitting on the gas stove, the earthy tones that clashed with the other renovated rooms – made Nico feel as if he had stepped out of time and into some modern witch’s apothecary. And Pollux himself only catered to the illusion. He was settled in his chair as if he had been sitting there his entire life, not startling the slightest bit at the refrigerator’s loud clunking nor shivering at the sudden burst of cold as the air conditioner rattled back to life.

The more he stared, the more Nico’s chest tightened. It was this – Pollux sitting comfortably at the table in sweats with a pair of ridiculously clunky reading glasses – Nico had imagined when Bryce had suggested months ago that they move out to Missouri. He imagined waking up well-rested, coming downstairs, and seeing Bryce waiting for him with breakfast ready. He imagined the two of them like a couple in one of Frank’s favorite Hallmark movies, settled and loving in a small town out in the country. But it had all been an illusion shattered by the ugliness of reality. The ugliness of truth. The ugliness of Bryce.

This reality, though, was shattered not by a fist, but by a cat.

Grant had spotted him the second Nico came around the corner, but had sat in silence in the hope that Nico would offer him food or do something entertaining. When he didn’t, Grant snitched with the loudest yowl Nico had ever heard.

Pollux startled at the sound and dragged his eyes from the computer screen to Grant to Nico. “Oh,” he said and his whole face lit up. “Hey.”

Nico swallowed. “Hey.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” Nico said. He didn’t mention that that was odd.

“Awesome. Um. I was going to make you breakfast, but then I realized I didn’t know what you liked.” He tried to run a hand through his hair and tugged his fingers out when it didn’t work. Pollux’s curls the previous day had been in neat coils, like well-done gnocchi, and Nico became suddenly conscious of the fact that he was seeing Pollux without hair product.

“That’s okay,” Nico said. “I’m kind of nervous about work today, so I’ll probably just have toast if that’s alright.” He toed at the bottom of his borrowed pajama pants. “I don’t mean to eat your food.”

Pollux snorted. “Please. My dad was Greek; sharing food is in my veins.”

He wasn’t lying, Nico realized. Even though Nico had insisted on eating only toast, somehow he had ended up with a bowl of yogurt and a plate of eggs. He ate it carefully, expecting Pollux to say something about watching his weight, about buying his own meals. But Pollux just continued to click at his computer, his face occasionally lighting up and then occasionally darkening.

Nico asked him about it, curiosity overcoming trepidation.

“There’s a brewery in Charlotte that’s re-branding,” Pollux explained. “I’m re-doing their logo for them.”

“Oh,” Nico said. “That sounds,” he tried to read Pollux’s mood for an answer, “complicated.”

“Nah,” Pollux disagreed. He offered a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s just a lot of concepting, especially when the client doesn’t actually know what they want.” He raised his eyes to meet Nico’s, the dryness in his face making Nico smile before he even realized he was doing it. “This guy told me he wanted old, western-style type. Which makes sense, it’s a brewery and hand-done styles are becoming popular again. But when I showed him three variations he said they were all too old-looking.”

Nico winced.

“ _Exactly_.” Pollux laughed as if Nico had told a brilliant joke. “It’s like watching Tiny House Hunters and the renters say the space is _too small_.” He leaned back in his chair and gave a contented sigh even as he closed his laptop.

He stayed quiet for the whole of Nico’s breakfast and if sleeping well the first night there had been strange, Nico’s ease with Pollux’s silence was bizarre. With Bryce, silence meant an eventual explosion and often times he would try to fill them with as much words as possible if only to evade the fire. With Pollux, though, it was like an entire conversation on its own. He would move his hands from the table to his lap, then back to the table once Nico’s had placed his own there. It was endearing in its own quirky way.

Finally, Pollux asked, “Are you really nervous for work today?”

“Kind of,” Nico admitted. Ava wasn’t like New York City; if he made a mistake or an ass of himself to a customer, he most definitely would run into that same customer again.

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Pollux said. “Our entire population is maybe 300 people. You’re not going to get too much of a lunch rush.”

“And,” Pollux added, leaning forward in his chair. “You’re going to be working with Jason, which, honestly, is going to be great.”

Nico felt the blood rush to his face. “Is he...?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Pollux said, sitting back again. “But he’s really nice. Not hard on the eyes either.”

“No,” Nico agreed, “not hard at all.”

They shared a laugh and Nico felt the last of the tension he’d been holding in his shoulders ease. He could see how Pollux and Hazel could be friends.

** 

The inside of Joe Joe’s was a ghost town during the afternoon shift. In the past three hours of his training, Nico had only seen one person. It made him slightly uneasy with visions of zombies and aliens dancing behind his eyes, but Jason assured him it was all normal.

“You’ll maybe see twelve to twenty people in the morning,” Jason said, showing Nico how to prepare a large honey-lemon tea. “It gets slower in the afternoons, but speeds up a little again in the evenings. We close at eight, so you’ll usually see some people in around then trying to catch some last minute caffeine.”

“How do you guys make any profit off of this place?” Nico asked. He placed two tea bags into a double-cupped cup and poured hot water into it from the black, metal box.

“We have another shop in Charlotte,” Jason explained, handing Nico the white crayon. Nico scrawled ‘HLT L’ on the top of it and then set it on the counter for their invisible customer. “And another in Nelson. It’s only here that’s kind of slow.”

“But why even have it here?” Nico asked. “No offense, but I feel like you guys are just losing money by keeping this place open.”

Jason laughed and handed him another coffee cup. “To be completely honest, my dad owns it. “

Heat flooded Nico’s face. “Oh, Jesus, I didn’t mean–”

“No, no, don’t worry, you’re totally right. I’m just explaining that my dad owns this place. He doesn’t keep it open to make money – he actually owns a company over in California, which makes all the revenue he’ll ever need – but because it’s where he met my mom.”

“Oh.” Nico’s flush changed to a pleasant one. “That’s sweet.”

“It’s where he met his boyfriend too.”

“Oh. That’s... sweet.”

“And his wife.”

“Oh. That’s... Your dad’s polyamorous?”

Jason looked at him dryly. “No.”

Nico choked on an embarrassed laugh.

Jason’s grinned. “Alright, now.” He gestured to a black and green machine with three pictures of three different sized cups on it. “When someone says they want a coffee 'double double’ they mean two creams, two sugars.” He pointed to the picture of the small cup. “This is a single single. One cream, one sugar.” He hit the button and powder spewed into the cup he was holding beneath the machine. “This one,” he pointed to the medium cup, “is a double double. Which is?”

Nico answered, “Two cream, two sugar.”

“Right,” Jason said. “Hit the button.”

Nico held his own cup up to the machine and pressed it. A slightly larger clump of powder hit the bottom of his cup. He smiled.

Jason smiled back at him. “And this,” he said, gesturing to the largest cup on the machine, “is a triple triple.”

“Three creams, three sugars,” Nico said.

“Exactly,” said Jason. “People rarely ask for it though. Any more than three and three you give to the customer manually.” He showed Nico the basket beside the machine, which was filled with tiny CoffeeMates and sugar packets. “Always fill it when it begins to get too low. Creamers are next to the sink in the back and sugars are next to the creamers.”

Nico repeated it back to him.

“And that's it for today,” Jason said and winked at him. “I'll have you make the teas and the hot coffees for today and then tomorrow I'll teach you how to do the iced ones.”

“People are drinking hot coffee still?” Nico asked, appalled. It was at least a hundred degrees outside with humidity thick enough he could probably swim home.

“It’s cheaper than the iced coffee,” Jason said. He pulled himself up onto the counter to sit. There was nothing much else to do; he’d already swept around the tables and no customers were coming in. He gestured to the coffee maker and asked with a terrible attempt at Nico’s Mission dialect, “Can I get a coffee with four creams, two sugars?”

Nico went to the cups, paused, then asked, “What size?”

“Small,” Jason said. Then, at Nico’s face, “Don’t mock my sweet tooth.”

Nico set the small cup beneath the green and black machine and hit the button for a double-double before setting it on the counter and placing in two creams manually. He took the coffee pot from the closest burner marked to throw out at 2:51 PM and carefully poured it, then marked the lid ‘SC4C2S’ and handed the coffee to Jason.

Jason raised his eyebrows.

Nico stared. Then stammered and placed a coffee-holder around the cup.

Jason smiled, winked. “Good job.”

It continued like that for about an hour. He and Jason talked about anything and everything from Zelda to Halo to Pokémon Go. Jason talked about the Pikachu he’d been trying to catch for the past three days and Nico lamented being unable to play because his phone, for lack of a better explanation, had been stolen. In between conversations, Jason would routinely put on a mockery of some state accent and order a coffee or a tea to help Nico practice until he got it down pat, sliding Jason coffees with the holders on them securely and the lids accurately labeled.

“You like livin’ with Pollux okay?” Jason asked after having ordered a medium coffee in his own voice. He blew on the drink opening and took a sip.

“Yeah,” Nico said with shrug. “I mean, it’s only been one day so if it turns out he’s a sleep walker who wields an ax, I wouldn’t know yet.”

Jason laughed. “Naw, no axes that I’ve heard of.” He took another sip from his coffee. “He’s a good guy, you know. I’m glad to see he’s finally living with someone after...” He trailed off, but didn’t finish his sentence.

Nico didn’t press him; it wasn’t his place to carry anyone’s secrets.

Jason placed his coffee back on the counter with all of the other practice cups. “I’m gotta pee,” he said. “If anyone comes in and asks for something other than a hot coffee or a tea, tell them that you’re training and that I’ll be right out, okay? Don’t be a hero.”

Nico snorted at the idea of an iced coffee making him a hero. “Got it.”

Jason gave him a mock salute and then slid into the back room, leaving Nico alone at the counter with his thoughts and his towers of lukewarm coffees.


	5. castor the friendly twin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this should have been the end of the previous chapter, but I didn't have time to write it yesterday so it's getting its own chapter here, sorry comrades

“Excuse me?”

The voice made Nico startle. He'd been experimenting with different coffee orders in Jason's absence and hadn't heard the door jingle. He turned, flustered, and threw a look at the bell hanging from the front door as if it had betrayed him. “Yes,” he said, wiping his hands on his apron and finally looking at the customer. “How can I help... What'd you do to your hair?”

Pollux frowned at him from the other side of the counter. “What?”

Nico gestured to the dark streaks that had been added to Pollux's blond curls. “Your hair.”

“It's been like this.”

“No, it hasn't.” Nico looked down. He had changed his clothes too. Nico had watched him pull on a Ramones t-shirt and a blazer with jeans this morning. Now, Pollux was wearing a white t-shirt and cargo shorts. “Aren't you supposed to be in Charlotte right now?”

Pollux's face only got more and more confused. Nico noticed there was something different about it too. His jaw was just a little bit different, more square. Had he always had a freckle below his eye? Finally, Pollux's expression cleared. “Oh!” he chirped. “You're Nico.”

Nico stared. Glanced over his shoulder. Was Jason playing a trick on him?

Pollux tapped the counter. “You're the guy staying with my brother.”

“Broth... Oh!” _Twins._ “I forgot Pollux mentioned a brother. I'm sorry.”

“Don't worry about it,” Not-Pollux said. He was smiling now. “Think I could get a coffee though?”

Nico suddenly remembered he was supposed to be working. He swore and then apologized for swearing. “It's my first day,” he explained. “Um, I only know how to make hot coffee. Is that okay? Jason's in the back, but he'll be out in a few–”

“Hot coffee's fine,” Not-Pollux said.

“What size, um...?”

“Castor.”

“Castor. What size?”

“Medium, please.”

Nico punched the order into the register. It still felt odd using so old a machine. “Anything in it?”

“Two and two,” Castor said. Nico caught a whiff of his cologne, faint but memorable.

Nico nodded and stumbled a little over to the coffee cups, placing a holder around it so that the coffee wouldn't burn his hands. “Do you work in Charlotte too?” he asked.

“When I have the energy,” said Castor. His voice, Nico noticed now that he was listening, was slightly deeper than Pollux's. “I spend most of my time in the theatre.”

Nico tried to remember the name of it. “The Bacchus Theatre?”

“That's the one.”

He tapped the button for a double-double and then reached for the closest coffee pot. He would have to pour the rest of it out in a few minutes and make a new one. “Do you do production like Pollux does?”

“Acting,” Castor said. He was smiling when Nico turned back around. “I'm gonna be starring in the next show.”

The excitement in his eyes was infectious. Nico smiled back. “Congrats,” he said and placed the coffee on the counter. “What's the play?”

“A Midsummer Night's Dream.”

“Oh, wow, that's awesome!”

“Mm,” Castor agreed, handing him two singles. “Still a little nervous though.” He didn't look it. There was an ease about him Nico could feel from the other side of the counter. Castor held himself the way a star would: with immeasurable confidence.

“I'm sure you'll great,” Nico said and he was rewarded with Castor's dimples. “Here's your coffee.”

“Thanks.” Castor took the drink and pushed back from the counter. “It's good to meet you, by the way. This town never gets any new people so seeing a fresh face is always nice.”

Nico scuffed his foot at the floor in spite of himself, biting his cheek. “It's good to meet you too.”

“Nico?” Nico turned to see Jason standing in the doorway, flapping water from his hands. “Who're you talking to?”

“To...” Nico went to gesture to Castor, but the man had already left. His coffee still sat at the counter, forgotten. Nico frowned. “There was a customer, I swear.”

Jason laughed. “Don't worry, I believe you.”

“No, there was.”

“I said I believe you.”

Nico checked the register. _One medium coffee, double-double_ was typed on the tiny receipt slip. He showed Jason. Jason, again, assured him he believed him, but his face did something complicated when he moved to the other side of the counter. He sniffed the air and looked at Nico.

“Are you wearing cologne?” he asked.

Nico shook his head.

Jason glanced at the clock and frowned. “Damn, that's weird.”

“What is?”

“Nothing.” He scratched his jaw. “I keep smelling the same thing at a quarter to three every day.”

“Cologne?”

Jason nodded, then shook his head, dismissing whatever it was he was thinking of. “Anyway, way to go on your first customer, Neek.” He held up his fist.

Nico bumped it and made a face. “Don't call me that.”

“Duly noted. You know what this means though, don't you?”

“What?”

Jason beamed at him. “You're officially a Joe Joe's barista.”

Nico rolled his eyes, but found himself smiling. “Joy,” he said, “a minimum wage job working in retail, just what college prepared me for.”

Jason exploded with a rich, belly laugh and Nico couldn't help but join in. Despite his sarcasm, Nico actually did feel happy at the idea of being a full-time barista at Joe Joe's. Ava, despite its wet heat and acres of open road and silence, was proving to be the kind of place Nico had always thought about living in. There was something attractive about it. The people who lived there, from what Nico could tell at least, proved to be friendly enough and there was something thrilling about seeing a rainbow flag tacked on the back of a rusted pick-up truck outside the grocer's.

To Nico, it was the kind of safe that a small, rural community should be. He didn't feel like he was about to see a lynching at any moment or like the body of a thirteen year old queer kid would show up on the news like it had back in Darla. It was like being back in CHBU: small, diverse, content. It was a place where he could be happy.

“Alright, I lied,” Jason said, hip-checking him as he made his way to the other side of the creamery. “I'm gonna show you how to make iced-coffees today. I'll just go over it again tomorrow to make sure you're not overwhelmed.”

Nico nodded and followed him over.

He _would_ be happy.

 


	6. 9 hours there and back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's kind of graphic, sorry!

There was something sexy about holding a gun.

It didn't matter to Bryce that the Captain had taken his glock. He had two of his own tucked away in his desk at home: a 9mm and a .45 caliber, sleek and heavy. He held his 9mm in his hand now, playing with the safety the way he would play with the tip of his cock.

Finally, he shoved the safety back on and placed the gun onto the passenger seat. Bryce had retrieved his car keys from Michael that morning and now they hung from the ignition where they belonged, ready to be turned and ready to go.

Nico had taken the 480 bus to Atlanta. He would have to stop there to ask questions, but Bryce was patient enough. He was patient enough.

He took a sip from his water bottle and let it hang from his lips as he cranked the keys. The car growled to life. He would have to take I-44 E in order to get there in 9 hours, but Bryce would make it. He thought of the face that Nico would make when he tried to get Bryce to accept his apology.

It fueled something inside of him, but not in the way he wanted it to.

He shoved the water bottle down between his legs and sucked the rest of the vodka from his bottom lip. He had to weave through a couple of neighborhoods with brats running around in the yards. A sign on one road read “Blind Person in Area.” He snorted at it and cruised ahead.

Finally, he made it onto the main street where he stared holes into the blue minivan in front of him. The woman driving the shit box was going too slow. Bryce tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel as he waited for her to go the speed limit, then weaved around her when she couldn't take him riding her ass as a hint.

He wondered if Nico would cry when he apologized. Probably. Nico always cried. It grossed him out.

Bryce smashed the heel of his hand into his horn as he turned onto the highway, sneering at a Toyota that tried to cut him off.

He wondered if Nico would beg. Probably. Bryce liked it when he did that. It made him look more pathetic, like the fucking pussy he was.

Bryce swerved into the right lane to make a pass and flicked off the BMW behind him.

He wondered if he should make Nico suck him off while he apologized. Probably. The thickness of the gun in his hand had already given him a chubby.

Bryce would tell Nico he would accept his apology, but that he would have to be punished. Good boys didn't get to come home if they misbehaved. Then Nico would make his dumb fucking crying face before he would go to his knees. There'd be more spit than usual probably, but that was fine. He'd let Nico make him cum in his mouth. He'd let him swallow, let him say thank you, let him ask to come home.

And then he'd blow his fucking head off.

Bryce grinned around his thumb.

Nico had tested him once. Bryce wouldn't let him test him again.

 


	7. ain't no sunshine when she's gone

Since that morning, Nico had envisioned Pollux as something of a quiet cottage witch, the other side of Castor’s whimsical and confident coin. And so that following night when Pollux had asked Nico to get vodka from the pantry to make sauce for the pasta, he had envisioned vials of human eyes, jars of sheep hooves, containers of newt livers, and bottles of cow’s blood.

Instead, Nico raised his eyebrows and tossed Pollux a look over his shoulder. “I feel like I should be concerned with the amount of alcohol in your pantry,” he said.

Pollux huffed a laugh from the stove where he was crushing tomatoes in a bowl. “I can enjoy a drink without being a drunk,” he said.

“And yet you have ten kinds of whiskey.”

Pollux’s shoulders shook. His earthy eyes found Nico’s. He said, dimples cratering his cheeks, “There’s a whole wine cellar downstairs too.”

Nico snorted hard. He looked back at the pantry and dragged his eyes along the various bottles alongside small jars of seasoning and the occasional pastry box. He let his fingers choose the neck of a frosted Grey Goose bottle. “How much?” he asked, placing the bottle carefully on the counter.

“A third cup,” Pollux answered. He squeezed past him to get to the sink to rinse his reddened hands. Nico’s skin burned through his jeans. “Unless you like it slightly stronger, then a half cup.”

Nico poured the vodka into the measuring cup a little over the half-cup line. “Did you already stir in the shallots?” he asked.

“I did,” Pollux said and then flicked Nico’s face and shoulders with the cool water left from his fingertips. Nico swore, his shoulders instinctly pulling up to his neck and, at Pollux’s laugh, playfully smacked him with the wooden spoon. The act made something between a snort and a wheeze escape from Pollux’s mouth.

“You’re a child,” Nico said, but he was grinning as he took the same wooden spoon and stirred the penne so it wouldn’t stick to the bottom of the pot.

It felt strange to be cooking with someone. Bryce would usually work late and so Nico was often the one at the stove or at the microwave, stirring and seasoning. When Bryce would come home, he’d offer dinner like an offering to a god, to a devil. And then he would carefully begin to eat his own food after Bryce had started, waiting, always waiting, for something to set off the bomb.

Cooking with Pollux was like cooking with Bianca, back when she was alive. They carried themselves the same way: like teachers, careful but bright, waiting for you to surprise them with your own wit, your own spirit. But, still, there was something different about the comfort Nico felt with Pollux, something not quite brotherly. It was like burying your face into your favorite pillow, like a cup of coffee after running in from the rain. It was like... Like...

“Here, try,” Pollux said.

He was holding a wooden stirring spoon with the vodka sauce pooled in its center, his hand cupped beneath it. Nico took a step forward, feeling the steam of the sauce ghost over his face. But before he could open his mouth to taste, Pollux blew a gentle breath across the spoon to cool it.

Nico’s heart thrummed.

He placed his lips onto the spoon before he could overthink it, but when he looked up into the earthy color of Pollux’s eyes he was already buried alive.

“Good?” Pollux asked. His voice sounded different. Hoarse.

Nico swept his tongue over his bottom lip. “Good,” he agreed. His hands were shaking. He felt like melted butter. But then Pollux leaned across the stove and turned off the burner. The world didn’t end. He didn’t explode.

“How do you feel about music?” Pollux asked. He gestured to the parlor. “This house may be ancient, but I have a pretty killer sound system.”

The tension broke, but Nico’s skin still hummed. “Show me,” he said.

 **

“How was work?”

“It was good,” Nico said, folding his feet under him. He had felt nervous not eating over a table; the furniture looked new and expensive. But Pollux had practically thrown himself onto the couch without so much as a worried look at his plate and so Nico tucked his own plate into his lap without much anxiety. “Working with Jason was fun.”

“I told you,” Pollux said, waving his fork at him. “Has he shown you his giant nerd side yet?”

Nico gave a half-smile. “A little.”

“Just wait,” he said, “it’ll be like a tsunami one of these days. You won’t even see it coming.”

Nico gave a full smile now, but then he remembered something. “Oh,” he said, “today I met–”

“ _MREOWR_.”

Nico startled and looked down to see the calico cat that had traipsed over his pants that morning while he’d been pissing. He hadn’t even heard her approach, but now she sat beside him like a garden statue of a starving child. “Um,” he said, and cast an unsure look at Pollux.

“Hennessy,” Pollux said through a mouthful of penne. “Fuck off.”

Still, the cat meowed and soon was joined by Grant and Mallow. Pollux tossed a throw pillow at them and they scattered, and then reformed, like some kind of feline legion.

“Ignore them,” said Pollux when two more appeared. “If you ignore them, then it means you’re the alpha.”

“Do cats have alphas?” Nico asked, turning his face away from the multiple sets of green eyes.

“They do now,” Pollux said and took another bite of pasta. Nico followed suit. “I feed them twice a day, once at nine before work and again at nine-thirty. They just like to pretend they’re dying.”

Nico’s mouth quirked, but then all amusement left his face. His head snapped up at a familiar sound and he turned so his ears could hear better. But he didn’t have to wait long because soon sound system kicked in and Nico’s thoughts were confirmed. He looked at Pollux with wonder. “Is this Hideaway?” he asked.

Pollux looked surprised. “You listen to Freddie King?”

“No,” Nico said, “but my mom did.”

Pollux caught the past tense. He smiled a soft smile. “She had good taste.”

Nico smiled back. “Yeah,” he said. His stomach fluttered and settled. “She did.”

He hummed the melody as he ate, feeling small again. He could hear his mom in the kitchen, thumping a knife along to the guitar while his sister washed the vegetables in the sink. He could see his dad setting the table, could see the silent look he’d get when he would catch Nico daydreaming.

Nico opened his eyes when he felt the bottom of the plate with his fork and cast a glance up at Pollux. His cheeks warmed when he saw the other man staring, his smile loose, his eyes soft.

Nico wasn’t going to make it out alive.


	8. no one else could see this apparition

The next day, right on time, Castor showed up with his medium coffee order while Jason was on break.

“People are going to start thinking I'm talking to a ghost if you keep disappearing the way you do,” Nico told him, placing his coffee down on the counter a little too hard.

Castor smiled cheekily. “Sorry,” he said, leaning against the counter. He didn't sound sorry at all. “Had to get back to work.”

“You forgot your coffee.”

“Slipped my mind.”

Nico rolled his eyes, but found himself smiling. “How's the play coming?” he asked.

Castor took a sip of his coffee, holding Nico's eyes as he did. He dragged his tongue over his lower lip. “Good,” he said, “we've been working on the fairy dance.”

Nico smirked. “You dance?”

“Laugh it up, small fry,” Castor said. He cocked his hand into a finger-gun and aimed it at Nico, winked. “I look fantastic in a leotard.”

Nico snorted, but fought off a blush. It felt strange to be talking to Castor like this when just the other night, in the privacy of his room, he'd let his hands wander. At first, he'd been thinking of Jason: the swell of his biceps, the square of his jaw, the roughness of his hands. But as his hand had wrapped around himself, the image of Jason's mouth around his cock inevitably turned into someone else.

He had wondered, breath hitching as Jason's corn-silk locks turned into gold curls, if Pollux would be a top, a bottom, or a switch. His patience said top, but the thought of Pollux's thighs straddling his hips, of Pollux's head falling back with his fingers stuck in his hair, of his plush lips opening around a moan, made Nico's throat run dry. His hand had tightened around his cock, almost painfully, to mimic the tightness of his fantasy. Pollux liked to take his time eating, savoring every bite; he probably fucked the same way, would rise and fall on Nico's cock in slow, maddening strokes until his eyes watered.

Now, talking to Castor, he felt warm with shame.

Castor drank from his coffee, unaware and unconcerned. His cologne smelled the same as the one Jason had frowned at the other day. Nico wondered if Castor had been playing tricks on him, a real life Robin Goodfellow. “So why Ava?”

Nico jerked from his thoughts. “Sorry?”

Castor waved at him with his skinny, red stirring straw. “Ava isn't a place people come to,” he said, “it's a place people leave behind. So either you're one of those tiny-house weirdos looking for cheap land to buy or leaving behind something worse than a town where futures come to die.”

Nico blinked in surprise. Ava had seemed like such a sanctuary since Missouri he hadn't thought that to someone else it would be a prison. He looked down at Castor's coffee cup, at his own hands, and debated. He hadn't told anyone about Bryce. He hadn't even let Pollux know why he needed to borrow his laptop, why he sent an email through Pollux's account to Hazel saying he was safe. The world was on his shoulders, crushing him continent by continent.

He looked at Castor, his tree-root eyes. “My boyfriend beat the shit out of me,” Nico said. Castor's face did something complicated. “He's a cop. So I couldn't really... call anybody. He um... I stabbed him, in the stomach, after he tried to... He–”

He shuddered as a hand, soft and surprisingly cool, squeezed his arm. Nico hadn't realized he'd been crying.

“Hey,” Castor whispered. Nico shuddered again. “Hey.” Nico looked up, met his eyes. “He won't get you,” he said.

Nico nodded.

“He won't get you.”

Nico nodded again.

“We'll make sure of that. Okay?”

Nico nodded again.

Castor squeezed his arm again and then withdrew it. “I'm sorry,” he said, “that I asked.”

“No,” Nico said, “I needed to say it.”

“Well, then,” said Castor and gave him his cheeky smile, “sorry I interrupted.”

A laugh bubbled out of Nico. He wiped his eyes. “Don't you have a leotard to go squeeze into?”

“You callin' me fat?”

“You're definitely not thin.”

Castor laughed, good and loud, and the genuineness of it settled Nico's nerves. “You're definitely right,” he said and raised his coffee to him. Then he asked, “You gonna be okay? If I head out?”

“Yeah,” Nico said. He waved to the empty coffee shop. “Just look at all the customers I have to care for.”

Castor snorted, but his face softened. “Really though.”

Nico smiled. “I'm okay.”

He nodded and headed for the door, then turned. “Oh,” he said, and gestured to his face, “if you put some ice under your eyes, it'll help with the swelling.”

“The swelling?”

“If you don't want Jason to ask why you were crying.”

“Oh!” Nico looked over to the ice-bucket by the iced-coffee machine. “Thanks. I wouldn't have even thought–” He cut himself off when he realized Castor was gone. Nico frowned.

He hadn't even heard the door jingle.

 


	9. this chapter is gay

When Nico walked home that night he nearly missed the house.

The lights weren’t on, which rendered the old Victorian a ghastly smear of black on the side of the road. At first Nico thought Pollux wasn’t home, but the closer he got he noticed the Dodge Dakota parked in the driveway.

Nico stared at it as he made his way up the walk, feeling uneasy. Could Pollux have walked somewhere? He tried the door. It was unlocked.

Nico pushed it open, goose bumps rising on his skin as his eyes attempted to adjust to the vast darkness. “Pollux?” he called. There was no answer. No meow from any of the cats. Nico took a step forward, trying to listen over the creak of the floorboards. The musty smell of incense he’d gotten used to Pollux burning was stale. His eyes wouldn’t adjust. Clouds were covering the light from the moon outside. There were no stars.

“Pollux?” he called again, suddenly hyper-aware of the shakiness of his voice. He shuffled his way blindly toward the staircase. _Creak._ _Creak._ _Creak._ There was a lamp there, somewhere. Nico reached for it. Hesitated. His fingers touched something cold. Breath ragged, he felt for the tiny knob along the neck of the lamp. Found it. Turned it.

Light bloomed.

There were no blood smears on the walls or the floors. The house didn’t smell like rot. Nico took a calming breath and turned to see Grant squinting at him.

“Hey,” Nico said, quiet enough not to frighten the cat, but loud enough to fill the silence that was running its nails over his nerves. Grant didn’t meow at him, just blinked. Stared. Blinked.

And then pattered off into the kitchen.

Casting a quick sweeping glance across the rest of the darkened house, Nico followed.

The kitchen was just as dark as the entrance had been, save for the glow of a single laptop. Relief settled over Nico like a heavy quilt.

“You fucking asshole,” he spat.

Pollux jerked from his seat, looking over at him with such bewilderment Nico wanted to laugh. To bad he was too busy being pissed.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Nico said. “I thought someone murdered you.”

“Oh,” Pollux said and looked around at the darkness of the kitchen as if it had crept up on him. He rubbed his eyes, blinked, and rubbed them again before standing. His knees cracked. “Sorry,” he said. “I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten.”

“How long have you been staring at that thing?” Nico asked. He looked for the light switch, found it. Pollux squinted into the light in the likeness of Grant.

“Don’t know,” he said. He rubbed his eyes again and looked at the clock hanging above the sink. He swore. “Five hours. Jesus.”

“You’re going to get a blood clot and die,” Nico said.

“No, I won’t,” said Pollux.

“You’re going to go blind from eye strain.”

“No, I won’t.”

“You’re going to starve to death.”

“Yes,” Pollux agreed. “I will.” He looked out the window and attempted to run his fingers through his hair again, failed, tugged them free. “I didn’t even grab anything from the store for dinner. Jeez.”

“Anything in the cupboard?” Nico asked. He plopped his lunch bag onto the table beside Pollux’s laptop.

“There’s mac and cheese?” Pollux offered.

And so they ate mac and cheese in the quiet of the parlor, the Victorian once again rendered a home and not a house of horror. Pollux was quieter than usual, Nico noticed, and there was no jazz playing this time. It made him edgy. Bryce was always quiet before his fits. The calm before the storm. But Pollux wasn’t becoming increasingly agitated. If anything, he was becoming increasingly quiet, like a child who had done wrong. Even his fork didn’t tap the sides of his bowl.

Nico asked him about it, ever hesitant.

Pollux apologized. “A client,” he said then paused, sighed. “A client was kind of an asshole today,” he explained. He let Mallow lick at the side of his bowl without swearing at her. “Said that my work was shit and that he could have done the same thing that I had done. Said I was overcharging him. Only gave me half of what he owed.”

Nico blinked. “Can he do that?”

“I never actually signed a contract with him,” Pollux said, not meeting his eyes. “We had agreed to do it under the table. That way, I would get more money. Taxes,” he explained, “for freelancers are bullshit. Absolute bullshit.”

It was the most Nico had ever heard Pollux swear in the past two days. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Pollux shrugged a shoulder.

They continued to eat in silence and Nico’s edginess weathered itself out. Pollux wasn’t the type to explode the way that Bryce was, he realized. Instead, he withdrew into himself. Like Nico did.

Pollux set his empty bowl onto the couch and watched as Mallow leapt beside it, licking the cheese and making her white fur yellow. He didn’t even smile. He turned his head toward the window, lost in thought.

Nico was taking his last bite when Pollux asked the question.

“Have you ever lived out in the country before now?” He hadn’t turned away from the window, but Nico could see something flash across his face.

“No,” Nico said. He’d always been a city child. Las Vegas first, then Chicago, New York City, San Francisco.

Pollux turned back to him. The light had been returned to his eyes. “I want to show you something,” he said.

 

**

 

“Alright, close your eyes and give me your hand.”

They were behind the house, once again in vast darkness, but this time Nico didn’t feel like clawing off his skin. Pollux’s presence had lulled the night into something pregnant with potential. It was no longer the time of ghost stories and murders; it was a time of magic. Still, Nico gave him a look.

Pollux laughed. “I’m not taking you to a killing field.” He held out his hand. “Trust me?”

Nico stared.

And then took his hand. The warmth of it burned into his palm. “If you try anything,” Nico threatened, his eyes closed.

Pollux laughed again and squeezed his hand. “I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”

They went slowly. The cicadas rendered Nico deaf as well as blind, but Pollux was proving right by his promise. His grip on Nico’s hand, warm and sure, was constant even as the length of the grass grew into long tails that tickled along his thighs. Finally, after what had felt like a century, but what had probably been ten minutes, they came to a stop.

“Now,” said Pollux and Nico could hear the smile in his voice. “Open your eyes.”

Nico did.

And for a moment he swore they had walked straight from the Earth and into space. The stars glowed before them in blinking constellations, swimming this way and that through the strands of tall grass. There were millions of them, millions and millions.

“Oh,” Nico breathed, “wow.”

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Pollux asked.

But beautiful couldn’t even describe it. Nico had never seen fireflies in person before and yet his stomach burned with nostalgia. They bobbed and hovered, a myriad of Oberons and Titanias, a piece of the universe in a Georgia field.

Nico turned to Pollux, wonder burning in his veins.

Pollux was smiling. He was touching the fireflies as if he had been doing so his entire life and they were flying to his palms as if they had known him for all of theirs. A magical creature among magical creatures, a puck among fairies.

He didn’t know when he had gotten closer, but one moment Pollux was a foot away, his eyes alight with joy, and the next Nico was in front of him, drawn to the light like the others. His heart was hammering and when Pollux swept his eyes from the fireflies to Nico he swore it would burst.

“Thank you,” Nico meant to say. “For this.”

“You’re welcome,” Pollux meant to say. “For this.”

But instead they leaned into each other, like planets caught in each other’s gravitational pull. Pollux’s breath was warm on his mouth. Nico opened his lips, just a little. His breath hitched. His hands shook.

“Hey!”

They pulled apart before they could come together, startled at the shout. A flashlight was waving a few yards away from them. “What are you doing out here?” the stranger bellowed. “This is private property!”

Pollux looked at Nico. The trees in his eyes were on fire. “Run.”

Nico grabbed his hand and, as one, they sprinted back the way they’d come, leaping through the tall grass like hunted deer. Their heavy breathing masked the shouts of the man behind them and soon their breath turned to breathless laughter. They were kids again, laughing at themselves and each other, breaking past the sign that read “private property” that Pollux had missed, falling back onto the familiar earth of Pollux’s back yard. They were safe, safe, safe, and they were laughing, Pollux the sun and Nico the moon, their hands joined together, fused together.

 

**

 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Pollux said as he settled Nico’s hot chocolate in front of him. He poured the marshmallow vodka in straight from the bottle rather than measuring it. “So we need to play a game.”

“What game?” Nico asked. His face was still stretched in a smile from watching Pollux create a tower of whipped cream in his mug. It had, as expected, fallen to the side with a wet _plop_ onto the counter and had consequently dissolved the two of them into laughing fits.

“Twenty questions,” Pollux said. He settled himself into the chair across from Nico, sucking cream from his thumb. “I want to know more about you.”

“Alright,” Nico said. He took a sip from the hot chocolate and had to keep himself from moaning. Was that cinnamon? “Shoot.”

“You know my favorite color,” said Pollux, “so what’s yours?”

Without skipping a beat Nico answered, “Black.”

Pollux’s laugh bubbled into his drink. “Okay, Wednesday Addams,” he said, grinning.

Nico waved a hand. “You asked.”

“I did,” said Pollux, “and I should have expected it.”

“My turn.”

“Go for it.”

“What’s your favorite holiday?” Nico asked.

Pollux tilted his head as he considered the question. “Easter,” he answered. Then, at Nico’s surprised face, he shrugged. “My brothers and I were raised Catholic, but we never really went to church a lot except on the big holidays. We would dress up all fancy in our suits and mom would put on her special occasion perfume and we’d all get in the truck together. Afterward, we’d always go out for breakfast at Chiron’s Diner, this little place that used to be here, but went down in Katrina.” He paused, lost in memory, before he cleared his throat. “Anyway, it was always a happy holiday.”

“I would’ve taken you as a Christmas person,” Nico said.

Pollux smiled at that. “You callin’ me fat?”

Nico’s skin crawled with déjà vu. “I’m callin’ you jolly.”

Pollux laughed before his expression settled into something thoughtful. “Christmas was too stressful,” he said. “Mom and dad weren’t the richest and they had to get gifts for three kids without letting on that Santa wasn’t real. And then they’d be stressed over Christmas dinner because Yia Yia and Popou would always come and they’d have to stay with us and,” he waved a hand in front of him, “it was a nightmare.”

“Makes sense.”

“Your favorite holiday is probably Halloween,” Pollux said, “so I’m gonna ask... what was your major in college?”

“Journalism,” Nico said. He smiled around his mug when Pollux’s eyebrows went up. “Such a surprise?”

“To be honest, yeah,” said Pollux. “But now that I mention it, I can see you being a writer.”

Nico flushed at the compliment. “What about you? Theatre and Graphic Design?”

“Business, actually,” Pollux said, surprising Nico. “Mom and dad were both actors, so learning theatre came naturally. I minored in graphic design. I was never really one for performance, that was more my brother’s arena.” He made a finger-gun and pointed it at Nico. “Favorite book?”

“Catcher in the Rye.”

“Ugh, gross.”

“You?”

“Harry Potter, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Nico grinned. “Favorite play?”

“Ordinary Days. You?”

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

Something swept over Pollux’s face, but before Nico could see it it was gone.

“Favorite music genre?”

“Blues and jazz,” Pollux answered. “You?”

“Indie rock,” said Nico. “Favorite artist?”

“Van Gogh.”

Nico made a face.

“ _What?_ ”

“Can’t stand him.”

“But his work is fantastic! And all that suffering that he transformed into beautiful art–”

“All artists translate their suffering into art,” Nico said.

“Oh, _okay_ , then who’s yours?”

“Frida Kahlo.”

Pollux laughed so hard his hot chocolate shook. “Frida,” he wheezed, “Frida Kahlo!”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“You can’t stand Van Gogh, but you love Frida Kahlo?”

“She was amazing!”

“Her paintings are all the same! It’s like going through my selfies!”

Nico waved him off and Pollux mimicked the movement, snorting when Nico threw his napkin at him. “Fine. Favorite animal?”

“Leopard. You?”

“Dog.”

“What kind?”

“All kinds.”

“But what _kind_?”

Nico relented. “Pit bulls.”

Pollux clapped a hand over his heart. Nico took it as a good thing.

“Hogwarts house?” Nico asked.

“Ravenclaw,” Pollux answered. “Yours?”

“Hufflepuff,” Nico said.

“Oh my god, that makes sense.”

Nico rolled his eyes. Hazel had said the same thing. He tapped his fingers on the table as he thought and then took a sip of his hot chocolate. He was beginning to feel a buzz. “You said you had brothers,” he said. “How many?”

“Two,” Pollux said. His eyes shifted. “Technically one now.”

Nico’s stomach lurched. He stared at Pollux’s face, which had become pinched and uncomfortable. _Me too_ , he wanted to say. Instead, he asked, “What happened?”

Pollux ran the pad of his thumb along a scar on his inner left hand. Nico followed it. “We all used to work at the Bacchus Theatre,” he said. “It had kind of become a family thing since mom passed away.” He crossed himself, licked his lower lip. “There had been an accident. One of the cables. It didn’t... Somehow it had snapped. I don’t know how. My brother had been in the harness for rehearsal. They were practicing a scene that involved flying around the audience.” He trailed his fingers in a circle as if to indicate the flight pattern. “One minute he was up in the air and the next– He would have survived the fall. Broken a couple bones, but he would have survived it. It wasn’t that high a fall.” Pollux’s leg was jiggling the table. Nico didn’t stop him. “But he landed... He landed where the chairs were. On his back.” He brought his hand up to his mouth, put his back down. “I can still hear his spine snapping.”

The hands on the clock above the sink suddenly felt louder. Nico let the silence hang a moment, his blood feeling cold. Then, “My sister blew up.”

Pollux found his eyes.

Nico held them. “She went over to Afghanistan when I was fourteen. They said she died in combat, but one of her friends in her regiment told me she had stepped on a landmine. Not even a week over there.”

“Jesus.”

“I’m not telling you this to make this about me. I meant–”

“I know.”

They were quiet. The vodka suddenly felt heavy in their stomachs.

Finally, with a shuddery breath, Nico asked, “How’d you come to have five cats?”

It eased the tension like he hoped it would. Pollux smiled. “Mallow and Nyx are the family cats,” he said. “Mallow is fifteen years old. Nyx is twelve.”

“Holy shit.”

“Mm. Grant is newer. Dad found him outside his shop once night, soaking wet and flea-infested. Took him to the vet. Eight years later, he’s a trucker cat.”

Nico smiled.

“Hennessy is a rescue, she’s five. And Schnapps is her twin brother.”

“How can she have a twin brother is cats have litters?”

“The others died,” Pollux explained with a wince. “What about you? Any animals?”

Nico shook his head. “After Bianca died, I went into the foster system. Never really had any time or money for pets.”

“That how you met Hazel?”

Nico nodded. “Hazel was at my final home before I turned eighteen. We went to the same college together. Worked at the same job. No one ever adopted us,” he said, “so we adopted each other.”

Pollux’s eyes went soft. “I’m glad,” he said. “I met her when she was with a family here, the Johnsons. They were nice enough, but she was by far the shining star of that entire family.” He shook his head. “When they sent her away, she just about took my whole heart with her.”

Nico gazed down at his hands. When they left for Missouri, he felt the same way. Now, he wondered if he would ever see her again.

“Shit,” Pollux sighed. “It’s one already.” Nico blinked and looked at the clock. Pollux was right; the little hand had been tugged below the one. “We should probably head to bed.” He downed the rest of his hot chocolate and set it gently back down on the table. “Got assholes to deal with in the morning.” He winked.

Nico smiled and stood, taking his own mug to the sink. Pollux followed.

Before they went their separate ways down the hallway upstairs, Nico gave pause at his bedroom door. “Hey,” he said and Pollux turned to look at him, the heel of his hand already dragging over a sleep eye. “Your art isn’t shitty. Your client is. Remember that.”

Pollux blinked. And smiled. “Right,” he said. “Goodnight, Nico.”

“Night.”


	10. oh shit [oh shit oh shit]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it gets graphic, comrades

Tall grass tickled across Nico's palms.

The sky was bright, but there was no sun. He was walking, but didn't know where. The grass went on for miles in either direction. The field smelled like something familiar, like summer. He couldn't think of why.

“Nico.”

Nico turned, but saw no one. A gust of cool air kissed his face. He turned back the way he'd been and the tall grass had elongated into a corn field, the kind he and Hazel ran through their first autumn together. The summer smell was getting stronger. He couldn't place it.

“Nico.”

He turned again. He expected the corn field to be empty, but where there had been a wall of stalks, there was suddenly an opening, dark where the plants had grown too close together. The atmosphere seemed to change. The hair on Nico's arms rose. He headed for the opening in the maze and saw something familiar. A stake of wood.

Nico followed it up, up. To where a scarecrow should have been hanging, but had been replaced with a crooked body. It was folded over, the way a person would be if they were stretching. But the position was wrong. The body was folded backwards over the stake, its spine halved.

Vomit crawled its way up Nico's throat.

He knew who it was before he even looked at the face: Pollux's third brother.

“Nico.”

Nico shuddered at the voice, but he hadn't seen the body's lips move. He took a step closer, looking, looking.

The body's eyes snapped open.

They gazed up at the sky, searching.

Then shot to the side.

And found Nico.

**

Nico shot up from the bed, a cry stuck in his throat. He clutched at the bed sheet, strangling it in his fingers in his hurry to hold it close. The room was dark; the nightlight Pollux had given him had been extinguished. His eyes darted right to left, searching, searching, once twice three times.

No one was there.

And then there was.

Where the door had been ivory in the glow of the moonlight, it was now covered by a shadowy-figure. It stretched up, up, _up._ Its arms were all wrong as they grew from the floor.

Fear gripped Nico in its icy fist.

He shut his eyes.

Begged.

Begged.

Begged.

“Nico.”

It was the voice from his dream.

“Castor?” Nico opened his eyes, pulling the sheet down from his face. The shadowy figure was gone, replaced by Castor's kindly form. He wore the same shirt and cargo shorts as he had the day before and the day before that. The air felt cold, but non-threatening. Still, something felt off. Castor's face was marred with something that looked an awful lot like anxiety. “How'd you get in here?”

“He's here,” said Castor.

“Who's here?”

“ _He's_ here.”

Realization crawled over him. Nico knew what the summery scent was from his dream, from the cornfield and the grass. He threw himself from the bed and over to the window, feet slipping on the floorboards. He yanked the curtain aside and looked down, down.

The house was on fire.

The house was on _fire_.

“Fuck,” Nico said and then yelled, “Fuck!”

He ran from the room, calling for Pollux, screaming for Pollux, grabbing whatever cat he could find. When Pollux emerged from his room, eyes wild and hair disfigured, he shoved Nyx and Grant into his arms. “Fire!” Nico shouted. “Go out the back! The back!”

Pollux moved faster than he thought possible. By the time he was at the back door with Nico on his heels, he had Schnapps on his shoulder in a vice grip, Nyx and Grant under the same arm, and Hennessy in his right hand. “I can't find Mallow!” he yelled.

Nico shoved him forward. “I'll find him! Go! _Go_!”

Because he knew who Castor meant. He knew, he knew.

Nico wrenched open the back door and threw himself to the side as Pollux hurried out, swearing profusely. The fire had made its way into the house from the opened windows and were quickly eating the curtains that hugged them. Nico called for Mallow, swore for Mallow, the heat making his body sweat in places he hadn't known it sweat. He found the cat huddled beneath the couch in the parlor. He clawed her from the floor and hurried for the back, ignoring the cat's scared meows and ignoring his own.

When he got outside, Pollux was standing fifteen feet back in the grass, tears running down his ruddy face. “I must have left the stove on!” he called to Nico over the crackle of the timber splitting. “I must have–”

Nico hadn't heard it because of the silencers.

One moment, Pollux was standing with the cats and the next they scattered from his arms and Pollux's shirt was swimming with red like a watercolor painting.

Pollux said, “Oh.”

He looked down at his stomach. Blood fell over his fingers. And then Pollux fell over himself.

“Jesus, Nico.”

Nico dragged his eyes from Pollux, face ashen, to the man standing in the wake of the crackling flames. They had now grappled their way half-way up the house and were tearing through the windows and everything inside. The man was smiling a godawful smile, but his eyes, like the house, were burning. A gasoline tank was tipped over, empty, at his feet and in his hand was his .45 caliber handgun.

“ _Now_ look what you did,” Bryce said.

And pointed his gun at Nico's head.

 


	11. no easy way out

“Bryce,” Nico croaked. Swallowed. Then said again, “Bryce. Please.”

“It’s too late for that,” Bryce said.

He cocked the gun.

Nico flinched.

Bryce grinned. Grinned and grinned and grinned. “I drove ten hours for you, y’know. Would’ve been nine, but there was some traffic. Been looking for you for longer. Should be flattered anyone would look for your scrawny ass at all.”

He took a step closer, the rustle of grass beneath his feet like spirits whispering. “Did you really think,” he asked, “that you could just leave like that? Just like that? I mean,” his eyes glinted in the firelight, “I could have _died_ , Nico.” He tsked, grinned wider. “Just like you’re about to.”

A small cry escaped from Nico’s throat before he could stop it. He suddenly became aware of the tears flooding his cheeks. He took a breath, then another one. He couldn’t stop shaking. He didn’t know when Mallow had left his hands. “I didn’t mean to,” he said. It came out a whisper. The tall grass was whipping in the wind behind him.

Nico took a step forward, toward the gun, and felt the cool metal of it against his forehead. He thought of Pollux lying in a bloody heap behind him and shuddered. “I didn’t mean to, Bryce. I didn’t– I love you. God, Bryce, I love you.”

Bryce sneered, but Nico could tell the words did something to him. He was too drunk; Nico could see it in the red of his eyes, could smell it in the stale sharpness of his breath.

“It was an accident,” Nico whispered. He stepped even closer and felt the coil in his stomach ease a bit when the gun pulled back enough to let him. “I would never do something like that to you on purpose. Never.” He slowly, gently, carefully took hold of Bryce’s gun hand and turned it away from him, kissing the back of Bryce’s thumb as he did so. He stepped closer. Closer.

“I’m so glad you found me,” Nico said. He held Bryce’s eyes as he kissed his arm, his shoulder, his jaw. Closer. Closer. Closer. “I missed you so much,” he said. “Please,” he said. “Let’s go home,” he said. “I want to go home,” he said.

Bryce watched him, his eyes like the bottom of a grave. The grin on his face was gone.

“Let’s go home,” Nico whispered. “I’m so glad you found me.”

He kissed his lips.

“I’m so glad you found me.”

Bryce kissed back.

“You’ve been bad,” Bryce said. His eyes had that faraway look in them he often got, the one that said he wasn’t quite looking at Nico, but wasn’t quite looking elsewhere either. The one that said he was in two places at once. “You’ve been bad.”

“I know,” Nico said. He kissed the side of his lips, his jaw, settling against him the way they did after sex, when Bryce was feeling unusually tender. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, let’s go home. Let’s just go home. I missed you.”

And just like he’d hoped Bryce was drunk enough to sag against him, just the slightest bit. The opportunity arose and Nico grabbed it.

He snatched the gun from Bryce’s hand and threw it as far as he could, sending out a silent prayer that it wouldn’t misfire. In the time it took for Bryce to notice what had happened in his slowed, drunken haze, Nico slugged him with an uppercut in the soft flesh of his stomach and sent him barreling to the ground.

Nico bolted for the house.

He had to find a phone, a phone, a phone a phone a phoneaphoneaphone.

The house was black with smoke.

Nico felt his arm hair singe.

The parlor was destroyed.

He couldn’t breathe.

His feet found the staircase.

Pollux’s phone was in his room.

The staircase groaned under his weight.

He gasped, tried to crawl low.

He couldn’t breathe.

Phone.

Phonephonephone.

Nico crawled his way to Pollux’s room.

His cell-phone sat beside his laptop on his desk.

Nico grabbed it, dialed, crawled, dialed, coughed, inhaled, coughed, crawled, dragged himself to the stairs.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“467 Beechwood,” Nico garbled into the speaker. He slid his way down the stairs, feeling the old wood leaving splinters in his side when he fell to the side of the carpet. “Fire. There’s a fire.”

“Sir, are you outside the house?”

“No. Getting there. There’s a man.”

“There’s a man inside the house?”

“He has a gun. He shot my friend. He’s wounded. Bad. He’s–” Nico coughed hard, gasped, coughed again.

“Sir, are you trapped inside the house?”

“ _No_. I’m–”

Something hard slammed into his back and Nico fell down the last two steps to the floor. The phone exploded from his hand.

“You fucking piece of shit,” Bryce was laughing. Nico turned to see him. His eyes stung from the smoke. Bryce was standing above him with a kitchen chair in his hand. “You fucking had me,” he said. “You fucking _had_ me.”

He brought the chair up.

Nico curled into himself.

The chair broke across his elbow and hip.

Nico screamed.

Bryce was shouting.

There wasn’t enough air.

Nico’s arm bled. There was wood impaled in it somewhere. He tried to drag himself away, but Bryce stepped on him, hard, kicked him, kicked him, kicked him.

Nico held onto his foot, was dragged back.

Bryce swore at him.

Nico grabbed his flesh with his teeth and bit and bit and bit.

Bryce kicked him in the head, yelling. Fingers tangled themselves in his hair.

Nico kicked and flailed, punched Bryce in the crotch and once Bryce fell to the floor, punched his face. His throat.

He clawed his way on top of him.

Bryce reached up, scratched at his face, thumbed for his eye.

Nico punched him again.

Bryce’s hands disappeared.

Nico punched him again.

And again.

In the throat.

Face.

Throat.

Face.

Bryce’s face started to disappear in a sea of blood.

When he stopped moving, Nico threw himself from his body, and tried to find the door in the dark of the smoke. The ceiling was beginning to groan. The house was going to collapse on top of them.

Nico saw the picture frame of Pollux and his brothers on the wall; the back door was just beyond. He crawled his way forward, choking, gasping. He was going to make it. He was going to–

A hand grabbed his ankle and yanked him back.

His bad arm hit the corner of the wall and Nico cried out.

Bryce had managed to crawl from the floor and now reached for him like a monster from a horror movie. “You’re not going,” he growled. His face was like ground beef, but still he managed to grin. “ _Anywhere._ ”

And then Nico must have blacked out.

Because one moment the heat from the fire was incredible and he was suffocating, Bryce pulling him back toward the flames. And the next, the air had dropped at least twenty degrees and Bryce’s face changed. He was grinning, grinning, finally triumphant, and then he was frowning, yelling, screaming, scrambling back, back, back, into the parlor. Fire grabbed his clothes. He shrieked at the flames, but shrieked more at something behind Nico.

Nico twisted his head up to see, but could only see black.

He looked back toward Bryce, but his vision was becoming speckled.

Bryce was pushing himself back into the flames, burning, burning.

Something was pulling Nico.

He blinked, tried to see, couldn’t. Cool grass touched his skin. The night air kissed his face.

There was a familiar scent.

And then there was nothing.


	12. zoinks scoob!

When Nico opened his eyes, he expected to see the stars.

He could still feel the grass on his skin, could hear the fire in his ears.

But when he blinked awake, the first thing he saw wasn't blood or Bryce, but an IV in his right hand. Nico raised his head to look around. The room was dim – how long had he been out? – and an oxygen mask was over his face. His left arm was in a cast, which had been signed by someone Nico couldn't see.

“Hey.”

Nico turned, thinking to see Castor, but found Jason sitting forward in a chair. Out of his apron and visor, he looked like a model for men's casual wear. The monitor beside Nico's IV beeped as his heart-rate sped up; Nico wanted to punch it in the face.

He reached up with his good arm, wincing at the needle in his hand, and removed the oxygen mask for a moment. “Hey,” he said and startled at the rasp of his own voice.

“Your sister's going to be here in a few hours,” Jason said.

“Hazel?” Nico said and placed the mask back over his face to breathe.

“She was your emergency contact,” Jason said. “But apparently she lives in California.”

Nico smiled tiredly at Jason's wink. And then his blood chilled. He reached up again, pulled the mask off. “Where's Pollux?”

Jason didn't wink this time. He clasped his hands between his knees. “He's in surgery,” he said. “But the doctor said the wound itself wasn't as serious as it could have been. Fortunately, when he was shot–” He glanced at Nico when he said this, a look of confusion or curiosity crossing over his face. “–the bullet missed any major organs. They'll have to staple his stomach, but the doctor said the worst thing was blood loss. He lost a lot.”

“He'll be okay, though?”

“He'll be okay,” Jason agreed.

Nico sagged against the bed.

“There's... police in the waiting room,” Jason said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “They want to know what happened.”

Nico watched him, breathed a couple of times into the mask. “ _You_ want to know what happened.”

Jason met his eyes. “There was a body,” he said, “in the ruins of the house.”

Nico shuddered. He closed his eyes. Opened them. “Bryce.”

“Who's Bryce?”

“An ex-boyfriend.”

Jason stared.

Nico said, quietly, hesitantly, “He tried to kill me.”

“That's what you left behind.”

“No,” Nico said, “that's what I ran from.”

They were quiet. And then, “What happened to the cats?”

Jason shook his head. “Don't know.”

“The house?”

“Gone.”

“Fuck.” Nico leaned back against the pillow. He could feel the tears. He swallowed them down. “Pollux is never going to forgive me.”

Jason leaned over to take his hand, then remembered the IV and awkwardly squeezed his shoulder. “It wasn't your fault.”

“It is my fault. If I had never come to Ava, he'd still have his house, he'd still have his cats, and he would have never gotten shot. Oh my god.”

Jason squeezed his shoulder more firmly. “Hey,” he whispered, “ _hey_. If you had never come to Ava, we would have never have met you. You'd probably be dead somewhere in a ditch. And you know what, house or no house, cats or no cats, I haven't seen Pollux smile like that in a long time. He actually asked for sugar in his coffee the other day, which he never does. He's already on his way to a comfort gut.”

A laugh bubbled out of Nico before he could stop it and it sounded wet through his tears. He sniffed, laughed again, “He already has one.”

Jason snorted and together they dissolved into hysteric giggles, but they had very little to do with Pollux's weight.

“I'm so glad y'all are okay,” Jason whispered.

Nico smiled.

“I would have had to waste two more days training somebody else if you weren't.”

They laughed again, so loudly a nurse peaked her head in and decided it was time to give Nico his medication. Jason squeezed his shoulder again before standing. “I'm gonna go back out to the waiting room for a few minutes now that you're awake,” he said, “but I'll be back. Pollux's brother is out there and I don't want to leave him alone for too long.”

Nico nodded, watching at the nurse removed his IV tube. “Castor's okay, then?”

Jason, half-way to the door, stopped.

Turned.

“What?”

“Castor,” Nico said again. “He's okay?”

Jason said nothing.

“Why,” he finally asked, “would he be okay?”

It was the strangest question Nico had ever heard. For a second, he thought his ADHD hadn't let him process it correctly. “I don't know how to answer that,” he said. “He was there, though. At the house. He's the one that woke me up.”

“You mean Dakota.”

“No, Castor. I don't know a Dakota.”

“Dakota is Pollux's brother. His younger brother.”

Nico frowned. Then winced as a needle pierced his skin. “The dead one.”

“No,” Jason said. “Dakota's _very much_ alive.”

“Pollux said he died in a theater accident.”

“Pollux told you Dakota died in a theater accident?”

Nico tried to remember. His heart-monitor was starting to beep faster. “He said... his brother. But I've met Castor. I served him at Joe Joe's twice. He was in my room. He... I think he pulled me out of the fire.”

Jason was staring.

Nico's face flushed, hot and panicky. “Castor isn't dead. I watched him drink coffee!”

“Nico,” Jason said, raising a hand to calm him, “Castor died three years ago.”

“But–”

The bell on the door that never jingled.

The coffee left on the counter.

The cologne.

The shadow.

Bryce's fear.

“Oh my god.”

“Nico?”

Nico shook his head. He refused to speak, couldn't speak. He pulled the mask back up onto his face and stared up at the ceiling. What the fuck. What the _fuck_.

The bus driver had told him Ava was one of the most haunted towns.

He should have seen it.

He should have known.

The nurse left the room and all Nico could think was that it all made sense.

“The dead choose who see them,” his mom had told him once. “But for some people, like us, it is easier for them open up.”

“Holy shit,” Nico whispered into the emptiness of the room.

But it didn't feel empty.

And it was that that made him laugh.

 


	13. brand new

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk how stomach wounds are treated so sorry any inaccuracies!

A week later, Nico found himself sitting cross-legged on a hospital bed, Pollux sitting identically across from him. While Nico had been discharged within six hours of waking up, Pollux had had to wait until then. His middle was bandaged beneath his gown and he still wasn't able to eat solids, but Nico was happy just to see him alive.

The door to the room was closed and the lights dimmed so the man on the other side of Pollux's curtain could get some rest. They hadn't said anything since Nico crept in, but Pollux had pulled his legs up to make room for him on the bed and when he folded his hands in his lap, Nico had mirrored him.

They looked at each other for the first time since the fire and although they hadn't changed in terms of looks, Nico felt as if he were reuniting with a childhood friend he hadn't seen in years.

“We found two of the cats,” Nico began.

Pollux lifted his eyes from the thin blanket on his lap. “Yeah?”

“Mallow and Nyx,” Nico said. “I wanted to smuggle them into our hotel room, but Jason thought it would be a better idea if he held onto them.”

He thought for sure Pollux would crack a smile. He didn't. “And the others?”

“We put up some signs down by The Circle. Everyone in town is keeping an eye out.”

Pollux nodded and looked back at the blanket.

The heart monitor of the neighboring patient filled their silence.

Nico thumbed at the hem of his shirt with his good hand. His gut felt like it was eating itself; his cast felt itchy. He licked his lips and took a shaky breath. “Pollux,” he said, “I'm–”

“Jason said you saw Castor.”

Nico paused. Was that why Pollux was so quiet? “I did.”

Pollux drew in a breath the way someone would lowering themselves into an ice bath. “Did he... Did he say anything?”

Nico rubbed the back of his neck, thinking back. “I thought he was a real person,” he explained, “so he didn't... really relay any messages if that's what you mean.”

Pollux nodded, but he didn't make eye-contact.

“He ordered a medium double-double every time he came into Joe Joe's. 2:45 every day. Like clockwork.”

He nodded again. When he reached up to rub at his face, his hands were shaking.

“And, um... He said he was starring in a play.”

Pollux closed his eyes.

Nico immediately backtracked. “And that he looked fantastic in a leotard.”

There was a wet sound Nico barely recognized as a laugh.

“And,” he added, treading carefully, “when I told him about Bryce. He said he'd protect us.”

Pollux looked up at him finally. His face was an open wound, his eyes pink.

Nico felt gutted. “I'm so sorry, Lux,” he whispered. “God, I'm so sorry.”

Pollux reached from his lap and into Nico's, taking his hands like they were going to perform a séance. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said. “A pit bull doesn't apologize when a human beats it and leaves it for dead. Neither should you.”

Nico's brow furrowed. “A pit bull?”

“It's been on Animal Planet all week," said Pollux, gesturing toward the television.

“So you're not mad?”

Pollux shook his head. “I'm upset," he said. "But not with you." He hadn't let go of Nico's hands. “My house is insured, so even if the memories are gone, my money isn't. And I still own the land, so I could sell it.”

“You're not going to rebuild the house?”

“Why bother? It's filled with ghosts anyway.” He realized his pun, quirked a smile. “Besides, that house was built for a family of seven, four of which are dead. There'd be no point to it.”

Nico ran the pad of his thumb over the back of Pollux's hand. It was still surprisingly soft. “So what are you going to do?”

“Well, for now, I'm gonna stay with Dakota here in Charlotte until I can work again. Then, who knows. What about you?”

The back of Nico's neck felt hot. “Hazel and I have talked about it. I'm gonna stay with her and Frank until I get back on my feet.”

“In San Francisco?”

“In San Francisco,” Nico agreed. He hadn't missed the disappointment in Pollux's voice. He looked up, heart stammering. “I like you, Lux,” he said. “I like you a lot.”

Pollux gave him a gentle smile. His eyes were sad. “But?”

“But I need time before I start anything. I just got out of a year-long relationship that, for lack of a better phrase, went up in flames. Before I can take care of anyone else, I need to take care of myself. And I think you need to do that too.”

They squeezed each other's hands.

“Someone told me that Ava is where futures come to die," Nico said. "I think we both have some pretty bright futures that deserve a second chance. Don't you?”

Pollux smiled. “I do.”

Nico carefully stood from the hospital bed. “Until next time?”

“No offense, but I sincerely hope there will be no next time.” Pollux grinned. “Not like that one anyway.” He reached out a hand. “Until the beginning, Nico di Angelo.”

Nico smiled and took it. “Until the beginning.”

When he and Hazel began the long trek home that night, Nico found himself leaning out from the passenger side window, his heart in his mouth. Although it had only been a week, he felt as if he had been Georgia's mistress for years. Her thick humidity dampened his skin the second he let his face touch the air, but for the smells of peaches and farm soil, for the deafening cicadas and crickets, for the baying of the blue-tick hounds, Nico thought it all worth it.

And for once, he didn't want to go home.


	14. why don't you come on over

One Year Later

A magazine was slapped down onto Nico's desk, directly onto his keyboard.

He jumped, startled, and looked up to see Reyna scowling above him. She looked sleek and dangerous as she always did, something one was wont to see in a military leader, not a creative director. “Look at this,” she said. Commanded. “Tell me what you see.”

Frowning, Nico picked up the magazine and recognized it as their previous month's issue. A beautiful woman posed on the front with a book: the author of a new and popular erotic novel. He flipped through it, found everything fine, and looked back up at Reyna.

She waved her hand at him: look through it again.

Nico did, flipping. He paid closer attention to the magazine itself and less on the content. It looked... artistically off. The columns in some of the articles weren't aligned correctly and several paragraphs had ragged edges. He saw widows and orphans and at one point the choice of type for an article title looked too childish for its content.

“It looks like shit,” said Nico.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Reyna said. The word punched out of her.

“Was this an intern?” he asked. “Did anyone even look over it?”

“Octavian was covering for me the week it went into print.”Nico winced. Octavian had been fired for incompetence, but there had been so many instances Nico hadn't even bothered to ask what had been the last straw. “What about Grover?”

“He left for _The EcoJournal_.”

Nico remembered. “So who was the designer?”

“Percy.”

“Your secretary?”

“He was the only one left with Adobe experience.” She picked up the magazine and rolled it in her hand before putting it on her hip. “Which is why I want you to show the new guy the ropes lest we lose readership because of this garbage. No offense to Percy.” She paused. “I change my mind. Offense to Percy.”

Nico leaned back in his chair. “Sure. When does he come in?”

Reyna checked her watch. “In five. Let him know where everything is. Show him his station. Etcetera, etcetera. I don't want another magazine like this. He better know how to make love to InDesign, not just how to fuck it.”

Nico gusted out a laugh. “Will do, boss.”

She nodded, pleased, and went back to her office to rule her kingdom.

Nico, in turn, went back to writing his article on a new genderqueer band that had been gaining popularity in the Bay Area. He managed to get a full paragraph in about the lead singer when Percy appeared at his desk. Somehow he was still attractive in a graphic t-shirt and a bright orange blazer. It pissed Nico off.

“Hey, dude,” Percy said, always professional. “Mr. Jones is here to see you.”

“Thanks,” Nico said and pulled away from his desk. “Out front?”

“Out front,” Percy agreed.

He followed him out to the front desk where a man was standing with a laptop under his arm. He was on the chubbier side and looked good in a button down and gray blazer with blond curls cropped close to his head.

“Mr. Jones?” Nico called. “My name is Nico, I’m–”

The man turned and it was as if the floor had been taken out from under him.

Or maybe it was because Nico actually stumbled.

He swore, found his balance, and found himself staring at the pleasantly flushed, round face of Pollux. It took him a second to find his voice. He swallowed. “What are you doing here?”

Pollux licked his lips and looked down at his laptop. He lifted it a little. “I, um, got a job.”

“Here.”

“Here,” Pollux agreed.

“You’re not... I thought you were staying in Charlotte.”

Pollux gave a one-shouldered shrug. Smiled. “Someone told me Ava was where futures went to die. So.”

“So,” Nico repeated.

Pollux shifted awkwardly. “Is this okay?” he asked. “You don’t seem as excited as I thought you would be.”

“This is about as excited as I get,” Nico replied. He grinned.

Pollux grinned back.

“Should I leave?” Percy asked from the desk. Nico had forgotten he was there, but Percy certainly hadn’t forgotten about them. His eyes were bright with glee. “You know, before you two do your thing right here.”

“Shut up, Percy,” Nico said at the same time Pollux said, “Sorry.”

Nico reached forward and took his hand and for a moment it was as if they were back at the old Victorian, wading through the tall grass together. Except the tall grass were filing cabinets and the lightning bugs were flickering office lights.

“You work across from me,” Nico said, his ears burning. He indicated the desktop MAC on table directly across from him. “You don’t need to bring your own computer unless you want to. We have all the Adobe Creative Suite software updated. Um.” His eyes flickered to Pollux’s face, his blazer, and away again. His ears burned hotter. “Jupiter Ltd is pretty small in terms of how we operate. We like to keep things personal and familiar. So it’s usually one or two people working on photography, layout, and writing. You’re okay with doing both layout and any digital artwork that needs to be done?”

Pollux looked like he had swallowed the sun and was burning from the inside out. “I’m absolutely fine with that,” he said. God, his dimples.

Nico turned away and cleared his throat. “Great. I’ll have Percy send you the Adobe files before he mutilates them and I’ll send you the finished articles so you can work your magic.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They took their seats except Nico felt as if he had stepped into Hell. His article on the band suddenly felt boring and he had to force himself to read over the last paragraph he’d written just to comprehend what he’d even said. Pollux was just. There. All calm energy and soft, brown eyes. It was as if nothing had happened; a year hadn’t passed.

Except that it had.

Nico was a different person now, a journalist again with a decent paying job. He was less anxious, living in his own studio apartment with his own cat. And most of all, he wasn’t on the run from someone with the intent of stringing him from a Magnolia tree. He was, for the most part, as relaxed as he could be for someone who had gone through the things he had gone through. And he was sure Pollux had changed just as much. So, regardless of the itch of his palms to touch Pollux’s face, to run his fingers through his curls and get them stuck, he resisted. He wouldn’t rush this.

“Pollux.”

Pollux looked up from where he was already beginning to sit too closely to the computer screen.

Nico tried to stab the butterflies in his stomach. He swallowed. “Do you want to go on a date?”

The sun broke out through the trees in Pollux’s eyes. “With you?”

“No, my sister. Yes me.”

Pollux smiled, biting his lower lip before it could turn into a grin. “Yeah. You free tonight?”

“Definitely.” He flicked his pen on the desk. “Catch up and stuff?”

This time Pollux did grin. “Definitely.”


	15. make it holy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Pollux's POV -- hope it didn't throw you guys off!

“I went to his funeral if you can believe it.”

In the dull roar of the bar, Pollux had thought he’d misheard. But at Nico’s pointed look across the small table, he knew he hadn’t. “Why?”

Nico drew a sip from his hard cider before admitting, “In a way I felt guilty.” He rubbed the back of his neck, tilting his head in that endearing way that made Pollux’s hands sweat. “His parents died when he was in his late teens.” He gave him a sidelong glance. “I was the only one that went.”

Pollux grimaced.

Nico said, “Exactly.”

They took a sip from their drinks.

“So,” Pollux asked, “what’s been different?”

There were the obvious things, Pollux knew. Nico had grown his hair back out and then cut it off again so that his hair was black once more rather than bleached. His eyes weren’t lined with bags and no bruise hugged his face. He looked healthy, rested. Beautiful.

Nico leaned back a little to let himself ponder. It was such a small gesture it would have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but to Pollux it made him double take; Nico was letting himself take up space. “Well,” Nico said, “I moved into my own apartment a few months ago. In Bernal Heights.” He fidgeted with his drink before giving Pollux a small smile. “I got a cat.”

“No,” Pollux gasped, clutching at his chest.

Nico laughed. “Her name is Moonshine,” he said. “She’s a rescue.”

“Fuck you,” Pollux said without malice. “Oh my god. Please, let me see her sometime.”

Nico’s eyes crinkled. Pollux almost had a stroke. “Any time. But what about you? Did you ever find the others?”

“Others? Oh, the cats! Yeah, we found them okay. Took a little while because there isn’t really an animal shelter in Ava, but some neighbors found a couple and Charlotte’s shelter found the others.”

Nico visibly relaxed. It made Pollux’s heart skip. “I’m glad. I was worried.”

Pollux smiled and then curled his lips around his teeth to keep it from growing too wide. And then he remembered: this was a date. Nico had asked him on a _date_. He didn’t have to hide his smiles, his blushes, his looks.

So Pollux let his smile spread and reached over, bold, too bold, and squeezed Nico’s hand. “Thanks,” he said.

But it wasn’t as bold as he’d thought.

Nico squeezed his hand back.

Pollux’s heart seized.

“Are you liking it here?” Nico asked. He held Pollux’s eyes as he took another sip from his hard cider. “San Francisco, I mean.”

“I am,” Pollux said and looked around the bar as if it were the city’s streets themselves. It was an older bar with candles set in the middle of the tables and in front of the windows instead of using lights. It gave it a rustic look that matched the hipster-esque fashion of the bartenders. Pollux didn’t mind. “It’s strange, but not that much different from Charlotte save for the size. And, well, the quantity of gay people.”

Nico snorted into his drink.

“But I like it,” Pollux said, smiling.

“You planning to stay?”

The question hung, surprisingly heavy, between them.

Pollux took it, weighed it, and said, “As long as you’ll let me.”

It was the right answer, must have been, because Nico’s eyes, always cautious and analyzing, softened.

“I missed you,” Nico said, quiet enough that Pollux thought he’d imagined it.

But then Nico ghosted forward, leaning, leaning, leaning, his cologne a gentle spike in Pollux’s nose, and then. _And then_.

Castor had told him once, when he was researching fairies in preparation for his role, that time worked differently in the Fairyworld. “Ten minutes in Fairyworld could be ten years in ours,” he’d said. And then he’d laughed, “Can you imagine the vertigo?”

Pollux could. Because kissing Nico was like that.

His lips were soft, softer than he’d imagined when he was alone in his room with his face pressed to his pillow. He tasted like beer, a beer Pollux wanted more of.

He let his tongue carefully graze Nico’s lower lip, hesitant but parched, only for Nico to respond far more skillfully than he’d imagined. He did something with his own tongue that made Pollux gasp, made his dick twitch _hard_ in his jeans. And when Nico pulled away, he was grinning, so fucking smug.

“Jesus,” Pollux breathed. His face was red.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Nico admitted.

“Did you just fuck my mouth?”

Nico crowed and his laughter was too infectious for Pollux not to join him. When they’d calmed, Nico tossed back the last of his cider and slid from his stool. His eyes were filled with intent, his cheeks flushed with joy.

He held his hand out for Pollux to take.

Pollux looked down at him questioningly.

“I want to show you something,” Nico said, echoing Pollux’s words from a year ago. “Trust me?”

Pollux’s heart thrummed. He took Nico’s hand, warm and soft, in his own. “With my life,” he said. And meant it.

 **

“If I die in traffic because of you, I swear to god,” Pollux said, his eyes pinched tight.

Nico laughed, a trilling sound that made Pollux happy every time he heard it. “I thought you said you trusted me with your life.”

“I do, but the car sounds are making me nervous.”

“Don’t worry,” Nico said, “I got you.”

They walked for a few more minutes and before Nico gently pulled him to a stop. “Are you ready?” he asked and Pollux shivered at the breath on his ear.

“I am,” he said.

Nico tugged on his jacket sleeve. “Open your eyes.”

Pollux did. And the sight of the Bay Lights, spread out across the San Francisco bay like a graph made of stars, set fire to something inside of Pollux that had been long dead. He felt his throat tighten, his face flush, and his anxiety skyrocket. But it wasn’t a panic attack.

When they were kids, he and Castor used to be able to tell when the other was upset. Not because they had twin telepathy, but because they had been close since their conception. They could read each other better than any friend, than any parent, than any spouse ever could. They’d lie together, their hands intertwined, and let the other twin cry or sniff or gripe. They didn’t need to say anything because they understood. They understood. That was how Pollux felt now, staring up at the bridge covered in lights and lights and lights. He felt understood.

He turned to look at Nico, his body brimming with so much emotion he was terrified he’d explode. Because here was Nico – healthy, happy, self-sufficient Nico – sharing with Pollux his own fireflies.

Nico met his eyes, brimming with something just as intense.

Pollux took a shaky breath, but found he had nothing to say.

And so he took Nico’s hand.

And Nico let him.

It was a beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, you guys!! I never expected to get this far with this fic, especially with a rarepair, but your comments and kudos definitely kept me going. :) I appreciate you guys so much <3 I really hope you enjoyed it and that this chapter gives enough closure!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here if you want: http://enbyofdionysos.tumblr.com/


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